


Chain of Command

by txorakeriak



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, D/s, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Pirates of the Caribbean meets Secretary, Pre-Canon, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-11
Updated: 2007-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27605611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txorakeriak/pseuds/txorakeriak
Summary: When Gillette gets transferred to the Caribbean to serve under Norrington, it doesn't quite turn out as he had expected.
Relationships: Gillette/James Norrington





	Chain of Command

**Author's Note:**

> This is the strangest and weirdest fic I've ever written. It's based on the movie "Secretary" which deals with the sub/dom relationship between a lawyer and his secretary. I used parts of the story and put Norrington and Gillette in Mr Grey's and Lee's stead.

Andrew Gillette, freshly assigned lieutenant of His Majesty's Royal Navy, arrived in Port Royal with mixed feelings. 

He didn't know this part of the earth well; of course, he had studied, but he considered personal experience far more trustworthy than the talk of veterans, as they usually tended to portray things worse than they were. No, he had to believe his own intuition. This was a new place, a new life, and he refused to waste the chance. 

And the tropical weather of the Caribbean certainly didn't leave room for complaints either.

He didn't miss Europe too much and there was nobody to miss him either. His parents had died early and he had served King and country ever since he could remember. It was a difficult path to take: punishment, discipline, a whole crew at the mercy of one captain who could handle them as he liked; and wisely if they were lucky. Naturally, he didn't expect any less of his new post. He was going to serve with a man whose reputation preceeded him - a pirate hunter he was said to be, and most successful at that. 

Truly, he was looking forward to meeting his new superior officer and getting his assignments.

***

It had been a difficult day for Captain James Norrington. His civil secretary, a middle-aged man with little talent in calligraphy but with an exemplary dedication and motivation that had not been reached by those Captain Norrington had employed before him, had quit his post and announced his return to England. 

Now, the Captain was contemplating how to fill the now empty post as soon as possible; paperwork never ceased, letters and reports had to be written every day, and with his many responsibilities, Norrington could not do everything himself. 

Which was when a marine delivered him the message of Lieutenant Gillette's recent arrival in Port Royal. 

The Admiralty clearly hadn't decided to send another lieutenant to Port Royal just to do paperwork when piracy was still a severe problem of the area. Governor Woodes Rogers had turned Port Royal as well as Nassau into respectable towns again and destroyed the pirate nests there before he too returned to England and handed over his post and responsibilities to his successor, Governor Weatherby Swann, but the fight was not over yet. Some people said it had just begun; a good reason to employ a second lieutenant.

Still, it was possible to ask the newly arrived lieutenant to take over some of his former civil secretary's responsibilities in addition to the officer's own duties for a while, until a replacement was found. 

"Good morning, sir." A warm voice, but with the hint of resolution and perhaps even stubbornness, made Norrington turn around. 

"Yes?"

The intruder gave him a rather uppish smirk. "Captain Norrington?"

Norrington nodded instead of a direct reply. There was something about the man in front of him. Not that he didn't look like a proper lieutenant - his outward appearance seemed faultless, his manners correct. However, the look in his eyes, so determined and self-confident, and his proud, arrogant position and behaviour hinted at a man who always got what he wanted, of someone who would not hesitate to stir up matters if they didn't go his way. There was little doubt about how he must have had passed his examination, and there was just as little doubt about what he wanted to achieve in Port Royal. 

Norrington knew that he was still very young, almost too young for his rank and certainly too young for a promotion. However, if the lieutenant thought that he could outkeen him and take his place, he would meet a dead end, and Norrington was quite willing to demonstrate him the limits of a lieutenant's power over a post-captain.

So he decided not to say anything but let the other man speak. If he was the man he had advertised himself to be, he would show it and give Norrington the cue to react.

***

At first, the lieutenant was a bit taken aback. He found that Captain Norrington was acting most odd, not inviting him to take a seat, not asking who he was, but he didn't say anything and he hoped his face didn't give away anything either. From the outside, his new commanding officer seemed to be a decent fellow - young, but his face showed experience. What was the problem on the inside? Gillette discarded the question. He hadn't come here for asking questions that didn't concern his work. He just took a pile of papers out of a pocket of his coat and handed them over to the other man.

Instead of taking them, Norrington looked at Gillette, his face blank.

Gillette decided to explain himself. "Captain Norrington. I just arrived here today - from Portsmouth. The Admiralty sent me. I am to work here with you."

Norrington nodded. He seemed absent, even though his eyes were studying the other man. "Do you have children?" 

The more than unexpected question almost came as a shock to Gillette and for an instant, he was staring dumbfoundedly at his superior officer. "No. No, sir."

"Do you plan to have children?"

"I-- I beg your pardon, sir?" Gillette cleared his throat. "No, sir. No, I don't."

"Where do you live?"

It was strange that the captain still hadn't asked him for his name. "I have rented a house here in Port Royal, sir," Gillette answered obediently. "Thames Street."

"Living alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you married?"

Gillette shook his head with a slightly melancholy smile. "No." By now it was almost easy to answer the questions, though nothing about their strangeness had changed. No, quite the contrary.

"Do you have any degrees, diplomas or awards?"

"Oh yes, sir," Gillette nodded eagerly. He had hoped to be asked this question and he was glad to be asked now. Quickly, he started searching the pile of his papers in his hand for the relevant document. "I have a diploma in calligraphy, sir." 

Only now, Norrington seemed to notice the papers in Gillette's hand. "Are these your records and recommendations?"

"Oh yes, sir," Gillette said with a smile and handed the papers over. Indeed. Most odd.

Norrington looked at them. He raised his eyebrows. "Andrew," he said, pronouncing Gillette's first name almost like a question. "Gillette."

Gillette nodded. "Yes, sir."

"All right." Norrington put the papers into one of his desk's drawers before he turned to the lieutenant again, the hint of a smile on his lips. "Could you get me a cup of coffee with sugar?" 

And with this, he returned to his paperwork. 

For a while, Gillette remained standing in the captain's office. It were an understatement if one described his current state as confused. He was beyond confused. But he had his orders. "Yes, sir," he breathed almost inaudibly before he left the room and headed for the kitchen.

***

When Gillette returned with a steaming cup of coffee, his waistcoat was soaking wet. The cook apparently had her free day, so there was nothing else for him to do but to make the coffee himself, and almost all the cupboards were locked, so he had to tilt the huge water basin... Let's just say he was glad the water only soaked him and not the whole floor. 

After the lieutenant had closed the door behind him, Norrington invited him to take a seat, which was curious, considering that he hadn't done it before, but Gillette didn't think about it. When he had just taken out a little handkerchief to at least superficially dry his wet clothes, Norrington asked him the probably strangest question of the day.

"Have you ever worked as a civil secretary or in a similar position?"

Gillette shook his head, confused. Was it a trick question? Why would it be important for Norrington to know if Gillette had worked as a civil secretary? After all, he had not come here to do that. He had been transferred here to take the post of a second lieutenant. 

"I submit that your records are better than all the others I've seen," Norrington mused, almost to himself, as he was browsing through the papers, "and you have recommendations from the best and most renowned Naval figures in Europe. You would be overqualified."

Gillette couldn't help smiling at the compliments, but he didn't know what to say. He must have been a sorry sight at that moment, drying his clothes with a handkerchief. Not really the man his documents announced him to be. 

"I expect you won't appreciate the work here," Norrington continued. "My civil secretary has left me in a hurry today and refilling the position is an urgency for me."

"Do you want me to fill the position?" Gillette offered. He did not much care for people who turned down important duties just because they were overqualified for them. If it was the work of a secretary that was needed the most at the moment, he was more than willing to do it. 

Norrington gave Gillette a rather surprised look which the lieutenant couldn't quite explain. After all, the captain had brought up the topic himself - he must have hoped for Gillette to make the offer!

"You would be bored to death--"

"But I want to be bored," Gillette hastily interjected and immediately regretted the way the words had come out. This wasn't what he had meant to say. He had not wanted to create the impression that he enjoyed boredom. 

Norrington didn't even seem to notice. "I already have a lieutenant here, and for the time being, he can handle all the responsibilities himself. All I would request from you at present - as long as we are not called out to sea - is to write some correspondence for me and deal with messages; the ones from the docks and the ones from inside the Fort."

Gillette smiled. "Oh, I can do that," he insisted. 

"It is very very dull work," Norrington pointed out again. 

"I like dull work," Gillette said resolutely. _What has to be done has to be done. No questions._

At this point, someone knocked at the door. 

"I am not here," said Norrington gravely, but not loudly enough for anyone but Gillette to hear it, and waited.

A second series of knocks followed. 

Norrington stared at Gillette and then guided the other man's gaze to the door. When the lieutenant finally took the hint and got up to answer the knock, Norrington said, "Less sugar in the coffee next time," and left the room through the opposite door. 

Gillette's hand hesitatingly touched the doorknob.

***

It was difficult to judge the captain from how he had acted around Gillette that day. He had appeared glad that Gillette was qualified and able and there had been honest concern in his voice about how the lieutenant would think of his assignments, but only a minute later, he had become unapproachable again, as if he had built a wall between them or put on a mask. 

Was he challenging him? Was he trying to judge him and was all this odd behaviour just a means to test his nerves? He had kept calm, that was true, but not because he wasn't surprised or sometimes confused about the things the other man said, but because Norrington's strange appearance intrigued the lieutenant. He could not say what exactly fascinated him. 

Whatever it was, it made him wake up the following day with a joy in his heart about being able to go to the Fort again; joy - not necessity or duty.

***

Norrington had other thoughts on his mind when he returned home in the evening. His behaviour towards his new lieutenant had been strange and entirely inappropriate. Never before had he been so cold and overly-critical. 

What had come over him? What made Norrington treat Gillette like a servant? Was it really just this something in his behaviour and appearance? 

Gillette had obediently followed every order, tried to please, accepted criticism and promised improvement. He had been the perfect example of a subordinate. Also, he had been the perfect example of a man, determined, able and ambitious; he wanted success and he did everything in his power to achieve it, impressing Norrington not just once in such a short time.

Why had it not been enough? Why had he been tempted to snap at Gillette and criticize him at every given opportunity? 

And why, of all things, did Gillette not seem to mind being treated like that at all? This truly merited some further investigation.

***

When Gillette arrived at the Fort in the morning, Norrington didn't greet him, he didn't even look up to him as he entered the room. Gillette wasn't surprised by that. He only frowned when he saw what Norrington was doing. The contents of his folders were lying on his desk in quite a disorderly manner and he flipped drawer by drawer as if he were desperately looking for something. 

"Sir, can I be of assistance?" Gillette asked, hoping Norrington would accept. 

The captain turned around, started and almost dropped the drawer; his face had a slightly terrified look. "I-- I am looking for a certain folder. It included the draft of a report to the Admiralty. I must-- have accidentally thrown it away."

"Do you want me to go through the garbage, sir?" Gillette offered without even thinking about it. It was possible, he could do it, and it certainly would bring light into the whole affair. 

Norrington frowned for an instant, but then he nodded, the sides of his mouth raised just a tiny little bit. "Yes, Gillette, thank you."

This was the second time he had spoken Gillette's name, and again, the lieutenant was intrigued by it in a most inexplicable way. A mysterious, ambiguous smile on his lips, he nodded in the captain's direction and then left the room to get his hands dirty. Literally. _For the captain._

A strangely satisfying thought.

***

Gillette returned in quite a sorry state, but he had found the folder; under the half-rotten head of a red snapper and a pile of fish innards. It looked revolting and smelled even worse, but it was an important document even in this state. Naturally, it would have to be copied before it could be forwarded to the Admiralty. 

Norrington didn't take the folder. He just looked at it and nodded. "Copy this." Then he pointed at the cup of coffee on his table that Gillette had put there before. "This needs more sugar." 

Gillette took the coffee cup, balanced it in order not to spill any of it, and turned around to leave when Norrington called him back. He handed him another document and said, "I need two copies of this by tomorrow morning."

Gillette nodded obediently, took the document with his mouth and left the room, careful not to leave too many bite marks on it while he held the stinking folder as far away from himself as possible and still balanced the cup.

He could do it.

***

Three months passed. Nothing changed, except maybe the fact that Gillette was now able to write more quickly. He received some compliments, but other than that, the relationship between lieutenant and captain stayed quite the same. Norrington was still a mystery, and Gillette was entirely subjected by him. 

Despite the insecurity he was feeling, despite the fact that he endeavoured to please a man who was not so easy to please, despite the ever-present possibility of being criticized, Gillette never asked twice when he was given a task, he didn't think about it; he just completed it, hoping it was to the captain's satisfaction. 

For the first three months, everything was.

To Gillette, this meant everything. How premature a feeling.

***

The sun was setting when Gillette started the last task he had been given for the day; a copy of a report on recent pirate attacks on merchant ships near Port Royal. He was already a bit tired, but he forced himself to concentrate, his tongue moving along his lips with the same motions as his hand was guiding the quill. 

The door opened. Gillette didn't look up.

Only when something landed on the table in front of him did he tear his gaze away from the report he was writing. 

Norrington stood in front of the desk, his face showing distress. "Look at it," he said. Slowly, Gillette's eyes moved to the document Norrington had just put on the table; it was a letter to the Governor of Nassau that he had copied about half an hour ago. 

"Do you see that?"

"What?" Gillette asked, guilt crawling up inside him. Was there something wrong?

Norrington took the first page out of the folder and held it in front of Gillette's worrying face. Three words were marked with black ink. "The ink is smudged in three places - and two of the smudges are, I believe, badly concealed spelling errors."

Norrington's discovery hit him like a death sentence. He didn't know what to say. If he could just drop dead, he would. "Oh... I.. I'm so sorry, sir," he stuttered, blushing.

"This is not the first time, either," Norrington said gravely. "There have been others that I let go because it was during the first few weeks." He put the paper back on the desk. "This can not go on. Do you have any idea about the mark that will leave on the people who receive these letters, read these reports?"

Gillette was positively gasping for words. "I-- I'm sorry, sir... I--"

"Write it again," Norrington ordered. "And get it right this time."

The door slammed close and Gillette swallowed so hard he thought he'd swallow his whole tongue. His heart was racing, his hands were sweating, and there he was, sitting on his chair like a picture of misery. 

"Yes, sir," he breathed. 

His whole world had shattered to pieces.

***

At the beginning, he had been intimidated, scared of making any further mistakes, so he had proofread every letter twice or three times, just to make sure they were written correctly. Within two weeks, he had developed an obsession with accuracy that sometimes he even caught himself criticizing his subordinates.

However, this was just a phase that ended exactly when Gillette noticed that his newfound sense of perfection had resulted in less to no attention from his superior officer. Sometimes he didn't even look at the letters and reports Gillette had written anymore. 

Everything seemed irrelevant all of a sudden, everything except the two of them. The matter haunted Gillette in his sleep, it attacked him during the day and he was convinced that there was the potential of a deeper connection between them, even though they were not equals, and they were just lacking energy to accept it and live with it. Despite what met the eye, they could be equals in a way, one challenging, one meeting the challenge. 

So Gillette started making mistakes again, even though he knew that deliberate mistakes meant a violation of his duty. But he could not help himself, he had come to crave Norrington's attention so much that if this was the only way he would get it, he was willing to make the sacrifice of another good recommendation to add to his collection when he would leave Port Royal and take another post somewhere in the world. 

It was a risky, dangerous plan, and Gillette knew that. If he misjudged Captain Norrington, if he took it too far, he could risk being court-martialled, even sentenced to death. On sea as on shore, behaving with contempt to a superior officer, disobeying a lawful command and negligently performing one's duty warranted capital punishment. If he didn't err, however, he had the chance of starting a new life; a life that meant more than just carrying out orders and doing one's duty. He would learn about himself, find out who he really was, discover what was hidden inside him. 

He would never have thought it to turn out like this. He would never have expected he could do this - be like this. And neither would he have thought it of his captain. 

His equation would come out even, but it would still come as a shock to him.

***

At the beginning, Norrington didn't understand why Gillette was doing this. The mistakes were deliberate, that was evident. Of course, people made mistakes, but nothing like that, nothing so obvious. 

He sensed that it was more than open rebellion and he knew that it had to be personal, but he couldn't explain it. 

Did Gillette hold a grudge against him? Was this some kind of revenge?

But Norrington had never done him any harm; he had carried out his duty and given sensible orders - not always in the best manner, that was true, but it had never seemed to upset or appall the lieutenant. He had never said anything. He had always been amiable and helpful. 

Still, he kept making those mistakes, the number constantly increasing. It was almost as if Gillette wished his superior officer to chide him.

Why?

***

Gillette never talked to anyone about it. Lieutenant Groves, who was serving with him and had held his commission for a slightly longer time than Gillette, had asked him several times what he had done to be subjected to Captain Norrington's worst temper, but Gillette never said a word. It was hard enough to hide a smile.

What was he doing? That question came to him sometimes and left him brooding. He didn't know. He couldn't explain the way he and Captain Norrington were working together, he couldn't say why he was so fascinated by it. He couldn't even name what it was that he was feeling. 

He imagined talking to the captain occasionally, even dreamed of it; and every time, he was thanking him for his helpful advice and telling him that he was trying to be the very best lieutenant that he could be - for _him_. 

This was one of those times; the thought had attacked him while he was writing a letter and kept him off his work until he was violently pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening and slamming against the wall next to the doorframe with a bang. 

Gillette started and looked into the cold, green eyes of Captain Norrington like a boy looked at his parents when he got into mischief. 

"Follow me to my office."

Norrington's pace was quick and Gillette followed him like a fledgling. He didn't know what was wrong. He was prepared for everything.

Everything but that.

The letter he had written before was lying on the table, the misspelled words marked with thick black circles.

"I want you to bend over the desk and look directly at the letter. Get your face very close to it and read it aloud."

Gillette froze. "I... I don't understand..."

"There is nothing to understand." Norrington's voice was hard and unforgiving. "Put your elbows on the desk. Bend over. Get your face close to the letter. Read it aloud." _That is an order._ The words hung in the air unsaid.

Gillette obeyed. He bent over, put his elbows on the desk and looked directly at the letter. With a weak, hoarse voice, he started reading.

" _My dear Mr Garvey, I thank you cordialy--_ " 

Gillette flinched as the whip met his backside. He swallowed. It hurt, but it was well-deserved. _Cordially. Cordially._

He continued reading.

" _\-- cordially for your considerate kindness in sending me the enclosed note._

 _I cannot imagine, who can have stoped--_ " Once again, the whip struck. _Stopped._ It's _stopped_. 

" _\--stopped my Sunday's letter! That it has been, is clear: and the seel--_ " The whip continued its job with ceaseless force. " _\--seal of the other has been-- clearly opened; but this might have happened from letters-- sticking together._ "

He could hardly concentrate anymore. He was pressed against the desk, the whip tearing mercilessly through the cloth of his breeches and the soft skin of his backside. It was supposed to hurt and it did. 

A soft moan escaped his lips as he paused reading, and instantly, shame rose in him; not because of the mistakes, not because of the well-deserved punishment - but because he was actually enjoying it. Norrington was exploring Gillette's limits and creating an intense feeling of strength and power inside the lieutenant when he found out that he could take more than he had thought. 

It almost felt as if their roles were reversed, as if Gillette was the one testing Norrington, as if his captain was at his own mercy and he was challenging his strength. The realization came as a shock to him, like a slap in his face, and when the whip struck again, it caught him off-guard, increasing the pain. 

_Oh God. More._

"Continue." Norrington voiced coldly what Gillette was thinking; not that they both meant the same thing.

Gillette obeyed. " _Your's all-- came safe; but-- the numbering of them-- will point out, directly, if-- one is missing. I-- do not think, that-- any thing very--particular-- was-- in-- that-- letter..._ "

The words weren't even misspelled, but the punishment continued. Gillette's face was deep red, he could hardly breathe anymore, but he hadn't stopped reading. He had endured the punishment. Repent. _Repent._

" _\--which is lost. I send-- my greetings and-- have the hope to remain-- your servant--_ "

One last time, the whip struck and he moaned desperately against the sheet of paper in front of his face.

_Monster._

"Captain James Norrington." 

"Read it again."

***

When he returned home that day, Captain Norrington was shocked of himself. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have let his lieutenant provoke him thusly? 

The offence, though deliberate, had not merited such punishment at all. Floggings were reserved to mariners and petty officers, not lieutenants. In any case, there was a ceremony to follow. He could not just punish people at will, and secretly so that no one could see it. There was no way to justify his behaviour. 

Was he going mad? What was it with Lieutenant Gillette that made his blood boil every given occasion, that made him want to prove that he was stronger and better than his lieutenant? 

Whatever it was, it had to stop. He could not continue like that. 

***

The next three weeks were endless torture. 

Norrington completely ignored Gillette. 

He didn't read the letters and reports Gillette wrote, he didn't talk to him, didn't punish him - he didn't even look at him. When he gave orders, he used as little words as possible and he didn't stay to wait for the lieutenant's acknowledgement. 

It broke Gillette's heart.

At first, he tried to get over it. He told himself that he had been imagining things, that Norrington had never played the game like Gillette had, that their relationship was and had always been strictly professional and that everything that had happened between them had not meant more than met the eye.

It didn't work. He refused to believe it. 

So he started to pretend. He tried to replace his captain by chiding himself, by punishing himself. He banged his fists against the wooden wall of his bedroom until they were splintered and bleeding, he hit himself, he even cut himself deliberately, but the pain was different; forced and dull. It didn't come from _him_. It had no meaning. 

Not even the torn, bloody pair of breeches he kept under his bed was enough.

***

One morning, an envelope lay on Norrington's desk, addressed to him. There was no address on the back, just a name. 

Norrington frowned. Why didn't Gillette just speak to him? After all, he was in his office, just some steps away from Norrington's! 

The captain opened the envelope. It contained a note and a blood-stained piece of beige cloth; Norrington knew it before he even read what Gillette had written. 

_A piece of me. A small sacrifice to Captain James Norrington._

***

At the sound of the door almost breaking out of its hinges, it was hard for Gillette to hide a smile of relief. 

"Follow me to my office."

Finally. 

Gillette almost jumped out of his chair and hurried after Norrington. He had dreamed of this, of the day that Norrington would finally notice him again. He had dreamed of how he would follow him to his office, about how he would lock the door, make him bend over the desk. 

Every step that brought Gillette closer to Norrington's office increased the joy he felt in his heart. The long days of waiting were over. He would get the punishment he deserved. He would get the attention he craved for. He would no longer be just a servant, like during the past three weeks. 

Immediately after Norrington had locked the door, Gillette went to the desk, put his elbows on it and bent over, awaiting his punishment. He did not care if he was too eager. It could only give the impression of guilt, and Norrington had to expect that attitude. It was normal, it was right. There was nothing wrong with it.

Gillette held his breath when Norrington stepped behind him, and he closed his eyes, anticipating the first strike of the whip.

It didn't come. 

"Pull down your breeches."

Gillette froze. He had not expected that. In fact, he didn't even know what to say now. Had he misjudged the captain? Had he provoked something else, something he hadn't been playing for?

"Why?" he asked, because there was nothing else he could think of asking.

"Are you afraid?" Captain Norrington's voice didn't sound concerned; no, he didn't seem to care about any fear on Gillette's side. He rather sounded as if he were challenging him, mocking him. 

"No," Gillette hastily replied. He would not show any weakness now. Not when he was this close to--

The thought hit him like an enormous wave. Was _that_ the reason why he had started the whole thing? Did his intentions point into that direction from the beginning and was he just too blind to realize? 

Had he challenged his superior officer just because he wanted him to seduce him, to possess him completely? 

His feelings had never misled him like that, and now that he was facing the truth, he was frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak. Never would he have thought that he could worship and adore another person with such passion that it was enough just to be living for this. The discovery shocked him - but still, he wasn't able to leave or to say no. He knew that if he wanted to say no, he could, and Norrington would listen to him. But he didn't. 

Without changing his position, he slowly pulled down his breeches to his knees. His hands were shaking as he put them back on the desk, but he was not afraid. He sensed the captain's closeness, he heard him breathe slowly, steadily, heard the little sounds his coat made when he moved just slightly.

He wanted this to happen. He waited impatiently for Norrington to touch him, to come closer, to bury himself inside him. 

The more he was disappointed when the touch didn't come and the distance between them remained the same. 

But then, something changed. The change was almost inaudible, unrecognizable at first, but Gillette heard it. 

Norrington was breathing more quickly. Suddenly, he was panting, faster and faster, swallowing, gasping - until a last soft moan and the feeling of hot wetness against the skin of Gillette's backside affirmed him what he had guessed already.

Gillette couldn't breathe. Never in his whole life had he been so painfully aroused that he thought he would burst into pieces. It was hard not to touch himself right then and there, but he fought the urge; this was not how it was supposed to work. He was meant to endure, to wait - so he waited.

Norrington didn't seem inclined to linger. Quickly, he re-buttoned his breeches and stepped out of the room, leaving a breathless lieutenant alone with a wildly beating heart and an unsolved problem between his legs.

Only ten minutes later, Gillette solved it in the cold, mouldy dungeon of the Fort, crying out Norrington's name like a prayer into the pitch black darkness as he shuddered against the hard, stony walls and nearly collapsed with the force of his release.

***

The next morning, on his way to the Fort, Gillette saw smoke rising in the garden. He was early, there was still time until his presence in his office was requested, so he took the little path to the Fort's garden to check where the smoke came from.

In a distant corner of the garden, almost invisible to visitors as it was behind a big rosebush, there was a burning pile of wood. 

Gillette gasped. 

In the fire, there was a drawing, a portrait. It wasn't just a mere sketch; it was evident that the artist had taken lots of time to draw this, as the details were astounding. 

It was like looking in a mirror. 

Gillette almost burned his hand to save himself. He blamed the smoke for the tears in his eyes. 

Close to the fire, there was a little note, yet barely consumed by the flames.

_Dear Mr Gillette,  
I am disgusted by all this, by myself. My most sincere apologies. I have no explanation for my behaviour and _

Gillette didn't stop to think. He _couldn't_ think. He ran back to the Fort, rushed through the doors and corridors until he reached Captain Norrington's office. Without even knocking, he entered. If it was over, he had nothing to lose.

The captain was alone. 

The tables were turned. 

Ashamed of his tears but incapable of fighting them, he threw the scorched, ruined drawing and the note on Norrington's desk. "Why are you doing this?"

Norrington looked up. His eyes which usually were so cold when they met Gillette's were now melancholy and desperate. "I will request your transfer back to England." He lowered his gaze and looked at the unfinished report in front of him without actually reading. 

Gillette stared at him, mortified.

"You have to go or I won't stop." 

"Don't!" Gillette pleaded. _I need you. I can't live without you._

Norrington continued as if he hadn't heard. "I cannot do this anymore."

"But I want you to!" Gillette almost cried in his desperation. 

"I am so sorry for what happened between us," Norrington said sadly. "I have realized what a terrible mistake I made with you. I-- I don't know what has come over me. I can only hope that you understand. And that you will forgive me." He let out a sigh and swallowed. "You can count on me for an excellent reference. Your papers are in your office. Now leave."

Gillette thought he would die this very instant. "What are you doing?" he breathed, desperate tears running down his cheeks. 

"Leave. Please." 

And Gillette left, knowing that even though it was not in safe hands, his heart was with Norrington and would be with him always. He could break it, he could bury it, he could burst it - but he would not get rid of it. 

***

The next day, Gillette intercepted a marine while he was just taking a pile of letters to the _Scarlet Rose_ , a merchant who would leave Port Royal with the upcoming tide and sail to England to deliver dispatches. The marine didn't get hurt, but he lost an important part of his delivery.

Gillette opened the letter with shaking hands and for a minute, he just stared blankly at the firm black letters that ordered his transfer. He didn't read all of it, but he would make sure that it would never reach its destination. Nobody and nothing would get him away from where he belonged.

A moment later, the letter was reduced to ashes.

***

Weeks passed, and Norrington already considered the problem to be solved. 

Lieutenant Groves was most helpful in taking over some of Gillette's former duties, but then again, it wasn't such a busy time. They embarked to sea once but returned within less than three days. It was manageable. Life went on.

Norrington was rather surprised, however, that he didn't see Gillette anymore, not even when he had duties in town. The man simply seemed to have vanished from the surface of the earth without leaving any trace.

Sometimes, he caught himself thinking about visiting him. He knew where Gillette lived, after all. But he always decided against it. It would not be reasonable, now that he had finally overcome this curious phase.

Or had he?

***

Gillette clearly wasn't over him. He spent entire days in the bedroom of his house, curtains closed, as if he wished the darkness to swallow him.

He spent the nights in taverns and molly houses but always declined offers and never made any himself. He looked. He guessed. He compared. 

In the end, he was certain that no woman could give him what he really wanted, and there was only one man who could; the one who wouldn't have him. 

The feeling consumed him from the inside, hurt and would have nearly destroyed him if it hadn't been for one man who told him that the fight was not over yet if he didn't want it to be, and instead of driving himself mad with anger and desperation, he should fight back.

Lieutenant Groves didn't exactly know what he was reassuring Gillette in when he met him that night in one of the lesser-known molly houses. He had guessed - and it hadn't been too difficult for in his experience, nothing could drive people as insane as love, that nuisance that led poets to dream and ordinary people to kill themselves. 

Groves wasn't sure who Gillette was so madly in love with, but considering that they met in such a place, he had clear suspicions about the other person's sex. One thought led to another, one question to another, one glass of grog to another, and everything led to Groves spending a whole night verbally supporting a quite inebriated Gillette with ceaseless effort.

Groves had never liked Gillette much because they seemed so different that he thought it impossible for them to have anything in common. During that night, he swore to himself a thousand times that he would never do anything like that again, but when they sat in the room they had rented and Gillette opened his heart to him, he changed his mind. He was needed - and it was important. If they didn't have anything else in common, this was enough. 

In the morning, Gillette left a shabby, dirty bedroom and the friendly, reassuring embrace of Port Royal's First Lieutenant with a heavy head and a huge hangover but with a determined heart and a feeling of strength inside him that he would have never believed to be capable of.

***

Gillette stormed Fort Charles at nine o'clock sharp, taking advantage of the early hour and the completely unprepared state of Captain Norrington just like Sir Francis Drake had done when he had attacked Panama, just like it was expected of the King's men when it was time to fight. He would not lose again this time.

Norrington was sitting at his desk when Gillette barged into his office. He appeared calm, composed, concentrated. He was writing an important letter. Gillette knew that he should not disturb him, but he could not bring himself to care. Letters could be re-written. There was no second chance for him. 

"I have something to say to you," Gillette began, almost breathless from running. 

The ink smeared on the paper as Norrington dropped his quill and stared at the intruder, shocked. "Gillette--" he mouthed, but the comment was overruled.

"I love you," Gillette spat at him, his voice firm and determined, as if he were delivering a declaration of war. He had never thought he would once make that comparison. 

"You should not be here," Norrington said gravely, completely ignoring Gillette's words.

But the lieutenant would not be silenced. "I love you," he repeated stubbornly, but not with less resolution. It was not at all romantic, nothing like in poems and books, nothing lasses would get excited about, but it was the truth, and that was the most important thing. 

Just then, Norrington seemed to fully understand the words. The look on his face changed into blank horror. He swallowed. He cleared his throat. His lips made some desperate moves, as if he were trying to say something and couldn't find the words. 

Eventually, he rose from his chair and went to the window, showing Gillette his back. "I... I'm sorry, I--" Norrington's voice was weak and sad. "I don't believe that to be true."

Gillette stepped across the room and joined Norrington at the window, not touching, just looking at him, even though Norrington was still looking the other way. "Well, it is true," he said, calmer this time. "I love you. I could say it over and over again and it would not become less true."

Norrington turned around, his face blank. "This matter was resolved when I posted the letter to the Admiralty," he said, grabbing Gillette's arm and guiding the other man towards the door, but Gillette struggled himself free.

"I love you," he said again, fighting bravely. He knew that he was risking everything by saying this and meaning it. Hell, he wasn't even sure if Norrington felt the same for him. And judging from the way the other man acted, he certainly didn't. 

_Madness._

Norrington sighed sadly. "We cannot do this twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week." 

"Why not?" Gillette knew the answer that would come. It was improper, it was forbidden, and there was no reason whatsoever for keeping it up. In fact, Norrington would be mad to agree to all this, for he had much more to lose.

In any other situation but this, Gillette would have cared about that. He would have surrendered, he would have left, and he would probably have killed himself straight afterwards. But not this time; not when he had come so far. Not when there was nothing greater in this world for him than this wonderful man he was looking at. Not even death could surpass that or set him free of it.

***

When Gillette went over to Norrington's desk and sat on the chair as if he had just taken the office under siege, the captain suddenly felt the strange urge to punish him again. He couldn't say what had happened and why his old, hidden memories had been able to make their way back to his mind, but somehow, Gillette had rekindled the flame that Norrington had thought to be burnt out forever. 

It was an impossible situation.

Clearly, he had to refuse Gillette's demands. He could not do this again. It was wrong. He had to fight it as well as he could. For all he knew, somebody might already have heard them and called the guards. 

If Gillette only weren't looking at him like that, challenging him again without saying a word.

"Put both your hands on the desk, palms down." The order had left his mouth before he even realized he had said it. He felt the power coming from the unspoken challenge and he was determined not to let it overpower him. He was still in control of the situation. He was the stronger man of the two.

His face went blank, like a cold wall.

Gillette obeyed. The challenging look in his eyes didn't leave.

"Keep both your feet on the floor until I come back."

***

As the door closed behind him, Norrington breathed deeply, trying to fill his lungs with air again. They seemed to be completely dry, so dry that even slow breathing hurt. What had he been thinking? How could he have let that happen? And how, for God's sake, should he explain the fact that a former lieutenant had besieged his own office and he hadn't called the guards?

Lost in thoughts, he left the Fort and went home, hoping that Gillette would finally get some sense into his head and leave before it was too late. For his own sake. 

He entered his house without even looking at his manservant, who had long realized that it was probably best not to ask any questions and try to comfort his master when he was looking like that. He just took his coat, his hat and his sword belt, rearranged his shoes and then told him that dinner was served.

The rest of the evening passed slowly. Norrington quietly finished his dinner and went to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He tried reading, but the book bored him. Finally, he stepped to the window and looked out. Black night. Silence. 

Why couldn’t he find his peace and quiet when everyone else could? Why did he have to send Gillette away when there was nothing he wanted more right now than this insubordinate, red-haired officer by his side?

The last question was easily answered. Duty. He needed a capable officer to do his paperwork. It was his duty to treat his subordinates with respect and only give them the punishment they warranted. Norrington had overstepped the line, and the only way to solve the problem was to send Gillette away. 

Sighing, Norrington went back to his bed. It was his own fault to be lonely, so he might as well bear the insomnia with some dignity. 

***

When Norrington returned to the Fort Monday morning and opened the door to his office, he almost stumbled backwards. 

He rubbed his eyes.

He swallowed thickly. 

Eventually, he rushed to the desk and pulled up the exhausted body of Lieutenant Gillette, who had apparently spent the whole weekend in this room, and who had not moved from the desk, not to eat, not to drink, not even to relieve himself. He had stayed exactly where Norrington had told him to stay when he had left.

Norrington was shocked, but not of Gillette. How could he have abused another man’s trust like that? Gillette had only stayed here and completely neglected his body’s needs because he, Norrington, had ordered him to. 

Gillette didn’t even open his eyes when Norrington carried him out of the office. He was too tired to fully realize what was happening to him. Three days without food or drink sucked the strength out of any man, no matter how strong he was, but he felt stronger than ever before. He had done what he was told, had endured thirst and hunger, even beaten tiredness and exhaustion.

There was nothing to stop him now.

***

Norrington carried the limp body back to his house. His manservant stared at him, dumbfounded, as had the people on the streets and in the Fort, but Norrington ignored them and stepped up the stairs.

“A hot bath, if you please,” he ordered and opened the door to the bathroom. 

Gillette dropped to the floor as Norrington let go of him. He was unwilling to move. The heat of the room, especially after the buckets of hot water had been brought in, was comforting, almost lulling him to sleep. He squinted and saw Norrington kneeling before him, a blurred image of his dearest wish come true. 

***

Gillette became the best lieutenant Norrington could imagine. He handled ships and crews with an ease and efficiency that he even outshone Groves.

But as soon as the day was over and he got off duty, everything changed with him. From one second to the other, he became negligent, rebellious and disobedient and he stayed like that until it was time to go to work again.

At the weekends, he hid dead cockroaches under the pillows and worms in the cupboards. He messed up flowerbeds. He secretly put additional spices in Norrington's food.

He was the worst lover ever, and for that, Norrington loved him.

So they both lived, delighting in their own devices, and feared no assault, nor wrath, nor any end of their wickedness.

**Author's Note:**

> The letter contains pieces of actual letters by Charles Dickens and Horatio Nelson. My most sincere apologies.


End file.
